


Greenpea- Newt x reader

by t_swizzleismyreligion



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-23 17:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30059241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_swizzleismyreligion/pseuds/t_swizzleismyreligion
Summary: The story of you and Newt, I guess.
Kudos: 1





	1. Author's note

A/N  
Hello, hello, hello.  
Um.  
Newt fanfic!  
Important note:I am using they/ them pronouns to refer to the reader. This is because they are non- gender specific, and since I have no idea who you, my dear reader, actually is, I'd be better off using pronouns that don't mean "female" or "male". Bonus points if you use they/ them in real life, that'll make reading this easier.  
I just generally see Newt fanfics constantly using she/ her pronouns which is a little unfair tbh- we can all love Newt, not just the she/hers.  
Which is ironic considering Newt is canonly gay. 

But in this fanfic I shall not specify his sexuality, nor yours. Because I don't know you.  
That's all, folks- actually, one more thing. if you're going to comment, feel free to critisise my crappy writing, abundance of grammatical errors and really shitty storyline. Roast me. Add your own opinions, ideas. Whatever you feel like, just don't be boring- Wattpad comments are funny. AO3 tends to be dryer than a white person's christmas turkey. 

Love ya!


	2. Greetings

The smell of rust hits me when I wake up.

I'm lying on my side, with hard metal bars underneath my back digging into me. Around me are more bars, almost like I'm in a cube- shaped prison cell. There's a sack under my left arm, and a few unidentifiable shapes clanking as they roll about unsteadily over the metal floor. Where the hell am I? Everything is dark, and I think I'm alone.  
The next thing to hit me is the realisation that, not only am I in a strange metal contraption surrounded in pitch blackness, but I have no memories. I can't remember a single thing about myself. My name, my age. My favourite colour and my favourite food. My birthday and my family. I can't even recall what I look like. It's as though my memories are still there, in my head, but somethings blocking me from accessing them.   
"Alright, calm down," I murmur to myself, "it's okay. You just hit your head and got a concussion, or something like that." I don't believe a word that comes out of my mouth, but at least now I know what my voice sounds like. It still doesn't explain where I am- even if I have memory loss, nothing is making sense. I think, with or without personal memory, it's quite irrational to be in the position I am now- and by that I mean, stuck in a metal box.  
Clank, groan- I'm moving upward. The startling sensation of suddenly rising towards god- knows- where in a metal crate is not a nice one, which is why I scream. The... the box I'm in is flying up. A thought strikes me, one that suggests I could be dead, but I push it away and angrily pinch myself on the arm, hard to make sure this is all real. I don't know if I'm more disappointed or happy with the outcome that yes, this is real life. "Shit. SHIT. Help!" I sit up straight and bang my hands against the walls of the cage, "Help me!". It's crazy to think that anyone can hear me over the moaning and groaning of the rusted metal flying up, making me feel sick and dizzy. Adrenaline rushes through me.  
After about five minutes of, gradually slower, moving up, the box is almost completely halted. I feel around using my hands and find a corner, where I sit and curl my legs in towards me, clutching them close to my chest. It'll be safer here in my corner, I convince myself. It will be. So when the box finally comes to a stop, it's less of a relief and more of an expected occurence. Still, my stomach has stopped hula dancing.  
I catch my breath and retreat further into my corner.   
And that's when it happens. Voices.  
Dozens of them. I haven't a clue what they're saying, it's all just white noise- but I bet they can get me out of here. Before I can shout to them for help, there's a thump above me and the roof of the box is opened up into two halves, revealing about fifty guys standing around the top of the box, over me.  
"Who's the greenie?"  
"Probably just another dumb shank like always."  
"Damn, have a little optimism. Someone rolled out the wrong side of the hammock."  
"Shut it, slinthead."  
"Who's turn is it?"  
"Newt, you go get 'em."  
Okay, I've actually gone insane. It's like they're speaking some weird, messed up version of English with added words I've never heard of before- perhaps they're normal vocabulary and I just forgot them when I lost my memory. Whatever the answer is, I don't have much time to think about it, because before I know it, a boy's jumping down into the box.


End file.
